


Sweet on you

by RedgraveQueen



Category: Berena - Fandom, Bernie and Serena - Fandom, Holby City
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F, Lesbians, Mystery, Nostalgia, Sweet Shop, cointryside, cottage, long lost friendship, village, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-01-11 19:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedgraveQueen/pseuds/RedgraveQueen
Summary: After her mother’s death, Serena Campbell travels back home; to a quaint but run down village in the countryside in order to sort her mother’s possessions. She remembers her childhood fondly but cannot escape the pain and torment of the mystery surrounding the disappearance of her childhood best friend- Bernie Wolfe.





	1. Chapter 1

The afternoon is lovely- hazy and still hot. The scent of flowers and freshly cut grass hangs heavy in the air around me. I am sitting in the front garden, my legs stretched out in front of me, gazing questioningly up at my childhood home. My mother’s lifelong home; until she got sick and moved up to London to live with me late last year. 

My eyes lock on the pile of boxes I’ve stacked up behind the door. I contemplate loading them into the car- I know there is a charity shop in the village. Parting with her belongings so soon after her death feels wrong: as if I am throwing her away. But that is what I am here to do and I must make a start. I do not wish to remain here any longer than I have to. 

I am incredibly tired after a day of cleaning and sorting and I decide I cannot face hauling boxes around. A gentle walk into to the village will suit me much better. I push my feet into my ‘flip flop’ sandals- the rubber warm after hours of them lying under the glorious sunshine. 

I am floored by a heavy sense of nostalgia as I begin my short treck down the lane that leads to the quaint little village where I spent the best part of my childhood. I took this path every day as a little girl, hand in hand with my mother. The memory is almost overwhelming. The sound of my sandals slapping the hot concrete takes me right back to those black patent lace ups- always worn as an underwhelming addition to the intricate floral dresses my grandmother crafted for me. She owned the haberdashery in the village (that now is incidentally in business as the charity shop. Shame. The best of bloody everything has been turned into a charity shop these days... either that or a cafe). 

Every morning we would call in to see her on our way to school. I loved early mornings in the shop. My grandma was a much softer version of my mother. At that point, she was getting bad on her legs and would remain behind the counter- one leg up on a stool. Her arms were constantly draped with tape measures, strings and ribbons and she’d pull me onto her knee and thread something colourful into my thick, dark ponytail. My mother disapproved- said it made me look like one of the ‘gypsy’ children that had taken up temporary residence on the field behind the school. I didn’t think that was a bad thing. I remember being incredibly taken by them- by their ‘exoticness’. 

Once my mother was suitably reassured that my grandma was ok, we’d be on our way. As we left, she’d slip a sweet into the palm of my hand. Usually a minty humbug- always something boiled and wrapped in cellophane. Sherbet lemons were on occasional treat. They were Bernie’s favourite. 

Everyday I’d follow the same routine. I would turn my head away from my mother (she didn’t approve of boiled sweets either) and I’d bite it in half. I’d keep one part for myself (being mindful that I sucked not chewed) and wrap the other part back up- holding it safe in my pocket. 

One half for me, one half for Bernie. Of everything. Always. She was my best friend- had been since we met on our first day of school. I childishly thought we’d remain that way for eternity. 

Then, one summers day (a bit like this one) in our final year of primary school- I turned up to find that she wasn’t waiting at the gates. She always arrived before me but I waited and waited- long after the bell had rung to signal the start of my day. 

I never saw her again. 

My teacher told me simply that she’d moved away- that her parents had new jobs. But that couldn’t be true, could it? See, her dad, Tom had owned the grocers shop in the village for as long I can remember. Her mum used a wheelchair and didn’t work. 

The shop was closed then and stood empty for as long as I remained in the village. I suppose it’s been taken over now... I shall soon see. 

I blink away the memory of those painful, lost years but she refuses to be pushed from my thoughts. 

I see her in my minds eye- waiting for me at the gates- Pale skinned and thin- her blonde hair wild and curly, somewhat unruly. Her mum had arthritis in her hands and couldn’t tame it. The other kids sometimes sneered at her and called her infantile names like ‘frizzy Lizzy’ and ‘curly wurly’. I loved Bernie’s hair. Wild and bright- almost like a lions mane. Bernie wasn’t offended by the names. She was fierce like a lion too. Nothing phased her- ever. Not that I can remember, anyway. 

She’d grin as I put the half eaten sweet into her palm. We never talked about it. It was just a thing we did. A ritual. Every day. Until the day I was left with a sugary, uneaten crumb in my pocket. I threw my grandmothers sweet offerings in the bin, after that.


	2. Chapter 2

The village itself has barely changed- though it is even smaller than I’d remembered. The village green remains perfectly well maintained, in the midst of a scattering of little houses amongst the few- rather vintage looking shops . The pub ‘The Herald Arms’ remains the focal point of the village. 

I let my eyes pass over the charity shop quickly. 

After my grandmother passed away, my mother kept the shop up and running- until she became ill last year. Just one year of retirement for nearly 60 years of work. How very unfair. After I declined her offer of taking over, she’d sold it and it had quickly become a charity shop. Such a shame- my grandmothers wonderful creations exchanged for dingy, unwanted rubbish. 

The old post office remains, complete with the original facade, if my memory does not deceive me. I’m pleased to see the florist (used predominantly for funeral flowers) and the butchers shop remain the same. I barely dare look at the grocers shop as I round the corner. 

I know categorically that it will have been transformed into something new. Part of me is glad. That once busy family business stood empty for years, depressing me more and more each time I walked past- for years after Bernie’s disappearance.

The crumbling shop front has been revived and a colourful display of confectionary is adorned by gently twinkling fairy lights. 

I rather went off sweets, that fateful summer. But I haven’t eaten for hours and I’m craving some sugar. I remind myself I am on a diet... anyhow- I’m not entirely sure I’m prepared to revisit the inside of that shop. Not without my little angel faced friend beaming at me over the counter. I smile at the thought. sometimes, when her dad turned his back- she’d slip apples into my pocket-occasionally slide fresh flowers inside my coat- putting her finger to her lips to silence me. She was such a kind girl. So deeply thoughtful. 

I turn swiftly on my heel, before emotion has the chance to overcome me. I amble back into the village centre. The thought of entering what was the sewing shop is also tinged with nostalgia, pain and loss but is somehow less painful than the grocers shop. My grandma and mother in turn grew old. Old people are supposed to die. Little girls aren’t supposed to disappear without trace. 

I brush down my clothes and compose myself- forcing my lips to form a smile. 

I am pleased that the shop still holds its warm, welcoming atmosphere. It is actually rather upmarket- more a treasure trove than the grubby second hand shop I envisioned. It’s hardly recognisable from the shop of my childhood. 

The lady behind the counter offers me a pleasant smile. She is quite tall and smartly dressed, with white hair cropped stylishly short. 

I ask if a collection of my mothers belongings will be welcome and end up disclosing a whole chuck of personal history. The lady is fascinated to here about the shops past and my connection with it. She’s friendly and easy to talk to. 

“So why did you leave the village? 

She asks eventually. 

“I went off to university in London and had no need, nor desire, to return. The village holds a lot of sad memories for me. My grandmother had passed away and well... I lost my closest friend some years earlier.” 

I pause and mull over what I’ve just said. 

“When I say lost... I don’t mean she died. At least I hope not! She disappeared.” 

“Disappeared!?”

The younger woman- who had been sorting through clothes in the background has now stood up- propped up on the counter beside the owner. She has a blonde bob and wears a loose blouse over dark, skinny jeans. She suddenly seems very interested in my story. 

“What was her name? Were the police involved?” 

“No... not that I knew of. Her whole family disappeared. Perhaps others knew where they’d gone. I was still a child- nobody told me anything.” 

The owner nods in understanding. The younger woman is staring at me intently. 

“Her name?” 

She is brusque and inquisitive. 

“Bernie Wolfe...”

I reply, unsure of her motive. 

I am starting to feel rather ‘wobbly’ and endeavour to prevent my face from collapsing. It is the sound of her name playing on my lips I think... I haven’t said it out loud in as long as I can remember. 

“Bernie Wolfe? As in Berenice Wolfe?” 

She looks over to her colleague. They appear to convey a message (some sort of mutual understanding) without their lips even moving. 

“Haven’t you visited the sweet shop- just around the corner?” 

The older woman asks gently. 

“No... not yet... why?”

“Well- maybe you should!”

The other retorts. A short smile is shared between them and I leave instantly. 

I feel perplexed as I exit the shop. Then, like a tidal wave, it washes over me. 

They’re telling me to visit the sweetshop that used to be the grocers... Bernie’s shop. My head is spinning at an alarming pace- my heart racing. 

Could it really be true? 

Is Bernie Wolfe- my little Bernie- here, a few yards away? My lovely Bernie, back in her home- where she belongs? 

I catch sight of myself in the window of the shop I just left. I want to go home, to get changed- on the off chance that this isn’t some crazy joke. 

I wonder about the state of my hair. Has my makeup run? I will have to do- as I am. I cannot wait another moment. I have been waiting over 40 years for this. 

I open the door to the sweetshop slowly. It is dark and the air is cloudy with smoke. It smells sweet and musky... I notice incense burning on the counter. There is a bottle of Johnny Walker open beside it. 

As my eyes adjust to this new environment, the figure behind the counter becomes visible. She is smoking a cigarette and chewing on something. There is a jar of sherbet lemons open on the counter. 

Her blonde curls frame her face, almost like a halo. An angel, encased in smoke, sipping whiskey. 

I am not sure she has noticed me, until she places her glass loudly down on the counter. 

“I’m closed. Didn’t you see the sign?” 

Her eyes are wide and dark- questioning. 

I feel as if my heart might give in at any second. All of those years of wondering and hoping, have come to this. I find myself questioning- how long has she been back here? How long have I been searching, unaware she’d returned to the exact place I lost her? 

“Hello...”

I say simply, turning away from her- ignoring her rejection; mock browsing the shelves. I breathe in deeply, letting the aroma of cigarettes and frankincense cloud my mind. I cannot bare the thought that she cannot remember me. 

It is only when I venture back to the counter- requesting a quarter of humbugs, that she speaks again. 

“I know who you are. You’re Serena McKinney aren’t you?” 

I simply cannot help myself, can not prevent myself from venturing behind the counter, from throwing my arms towards her; from squeezing her tiny, deer-like frame close to me. I’ve needed this, longed for this for the best part of my life. And she remains still... stiff even. 

I pull back slowly, unnerved by her lack of response. 

“Where did you go, Bern? Where the hell did you go?”

Something changes within her and suddenly, her face fills with anguish. I immediately feel guilty. 

She instigates the hug this time. Tight and sure and safe. 

“I’m sorry Serena. I’m so, very sorry”.


	3. Chapter 3

“Do you want a sweet?” 

She says finally, breaking off our embrace and proffering the still open jar of sherbet lemons. 

“Only if you go halves with me?” 

I step back- expecting her to have no recollection of our lost tradition. I steel myself for the bolt of pain that would come with a blank stare. 

A am pleasantly surprised when a soft smile begins to play on her delicately shaped lips. 

She nods her head gently. The gesture is hardly visible but I am bold enough to take it as confirmation. I unwrap the sweet slowly, feeling her eyes on me the whole time. I briefly wonder if biting it in half is appropriate. We are mature women now and we’ve been heavily estranged.

I certainly wouldn’t mind if it was the other way around though and she is looking at me almost expectantly now. 

I decide to take the plunge. 

I put one half of it into the side of my mouth and bite it in two. I place the remaining piece on the palm of my hand and offer it to Bernie. She takes it gratefully and pushes it between parted lips, her tongue grazing them in appreciation.

Golly. She’s truly beautiful. She has barely changed in over forty years. Her face has matured a little and is somehow even more lovely than it was back then. Her hair remains light, curly and tousled but she’s tamed it somewhat and it is cropped past her shoulders. She suits it. 

“These were always my favourite!”

She lisps slightly over the bulk of the sweet. 

Emotion begins to build in the back of my throat and I think the feeling is mutual. She turns away and retrieves another cigarette from the almost empty packet. 

“Do you mind?” 

Her voice is low and husky. 

Actually, I do mind. I am about to launch into a lecture on the serious health implications of smoking but I stop myself- remembering that I haven’t been in the presence of this woman since I was eleven years old. I have no right to do that. This is her shop. She is a grown up. 

“No... go ahead!”

“Want one?” 

I feel almost like a teenager- not wanting to decline on the fear of looking foolish or uncool. I reach out tentatively and take one. I copy her and hold it between my lips, turning my head for her to light it. 

She moves the lighter towards me and I lift my chin, waiting. She pauses then retracts, it- laughing. 

“You don’t smoke, do you, Serena?”

“No...” 

I confess quietly, blushing.

She is clearly amused but her smile is one of kindness. She isn’t mocking. 

Instead- she puffs twice on her one then stubs it out on a little green, glass ash tray beneath the counter top. 

Silence has fallen between us now. I gaze around the room, taking it in, pausing to meet her eyes occasionally. 

“This place is wonderful... Even better than the grocers. Though I do miss it! It was a fabulous little shop. How long have you been back here Bernie?” 

My question is cautious. 

“A year.” 

She refuses to meet my gaze now. 

“What happened, Bern? Why did you disappear?” 

There is another long pause and I take it up on myself to fill the thick, awkward air between us. 

“I missed you, you know. So much. I tried to look for you but I was too young to know what to do. Then too much time had passed and there was nothing left of you here- I didn’t know where to start.” 

“You really should go now, Serena. It’s been lovely to see you. But I must close up. I have things to do.”


	4. Chapter 4

I wrack my brains, desperately trying to think of a ploy. Anything to buy me time- to allow me to remain with her in the shop. 

“Please? Can’t we just talk a little longer?” 

I feel as if I’m holding a sand timer. Time is running out quickly and I’m desperately trying to grasp it; to savour it; to stop it. 

I’m failing miserably. You cannot stop time. You cannot grasp something that is desperate to escape. You cannot force somebody to talk to you, when they have their minds set on evading your company... when they’re behind you like a sheep dog, herding you out of the door. 

I have no choice. I am out on the street once again, gazing up at her door like some lost puppy. 

I observe her making for the stairs at the back end of the shop. I suppose she lives on the first floor, as she did as a child. Despite her coming to tea with my family multiple times a week (and numerous sleepovers as we got older) I only ever visited Bernie’s flat once. She invited me up when her mum was asleep. We sat on the almost thread bare carpet and played cards. I had lots of toys and games but Bernie didn’t seem to be blessed with the same. At the time, I decided Bernie was just different to me. She wasn’t so interested in dolls and modern board games... but maybe she just didn’t have the privilege of owning them. 

When her mother woke, she was extremely displeased to find me in her lounge. She said it was teatime and that Bernie was a very naughty girl inviting friends without permission. I remember seeing her stood up out of her wheel chair for the first time. She was short and had a red face, her hair limp and dark, a totally different specimen to her beautiful daughter. I wanted to stay. I didn’t want to leave her alone, knowing her mum was so cross with her. it was probably my fault, after all. I was always mithering to see Bernie’s house and I’d gotten her into trouble. I remember wincing as the sound her being shouted at tumbled down the stairs behind me as I made my exit. I never visited again. I never suggested it and neither did she. 

I turn around now and look up at the flat. It is in darkness but there is a distinct figure against the glass. I smile up at her and she disappears into the shadows. I know she’s still there though, as I walk away. I can feel her gaze burning into me. It takes all of my strength to prevent myself from turning back to her. 

I wander back through the village with a feeling of intense melancholy hanging over me. The shops look downtrodden and sad. I consider calling into the pub and ordering myself a nice large Shiraz but I remember the pub as a bit of a gentleman’s haunt and don’t particularly fancy the prospect of sitting alone, guzzling wine in a public place. I have a nice vintage back at the cottage that was given to me as a gift by the lady from the post office... a condolence I suppose or maybe just a welcome back. She was good friends with my mother. I had planned to save it for a special occasion but I doubt it will make it past the end of the day. I suppose finding Bernie is quite special enough. Being rejected by her so painful that I know the one bottle won’t be enough. There is a little off-licence- much more modern in contrast to the original shops and I call in to gather more supplies. 

I take a deep breath as I turn off onto the road towards the cottage. I am emotionally exhausted I think. I focus on the sound of my shoes against the concrete. The sound of the blackbirds tweeting enthusiastically in the oak trees that stretch out above my head. 

The fog that has built up in my brain slowly begins to clear. Today- I stumbled upon a huge revelation. To coin a phrase; I feel as if my life has been flipped upside down. The longing I’ve endured for as long as I can remember was momentarily healed... paused... but as soon as I left her presence, it returned with a vengeance. The mystery has not been solved. The burning questions still rage through my mind, interrupting every thought. Where did she go? Why? Why did she return? When? Why didn’t she tell me she was leaving? Why didn’t she find some way to contact me when she came back? Why?


	5. Chapter 5

I swirl the remaining deep red liquid around my glass the pour it slowly to the back of my throat. It’s warm and smooth and blurs he sharp edges of my thoughts. I refill my glass hastily but set it down on the worktop. I should probably think about food. I am usually a plentiful eater but after today, my appetite has been somewhat diminished. 

I rummage In the partially stocked fridge and wonder at how I can fathom the scarce, random ingredients into a meal. I end up with an odd but surprisingly pleasant concoction of fish finger sandwiches- with a tin of soup that I found in the cupboard. Goodness only knows how long it’s been there. 

The wine is going down a little too nicely... calming me. I am glad I bought adequate supplies. I place my glass down on the marked wooden coffee table and delve into my new book. It’s a contemporary murder mystery. I’m rather addicted to this kind of reading material. My mother thought it was very odd; she was more of a classical reader. Jane Austin and such. 

I try to focus but my mind is hazy. Flitting between between a wide variety of subjects- none of them the story that lays open in my lap. I cast it aside and take another large swig of Shiraz. I look up slowly and fix my eyes on the old grandfather clock that has stood in the corner for as long as I can remember. I have never liked it. I suppose I can get rid of it now. It tells me that the time is almost 10:30. Way too early to go to bed. Despite the copious quantity of wine I have now consumed, I know sleep will not come easily. 

I can’t seem to settle my thoughts enough to read and there is nothing on the television. I decide there is only one thing for it. I shall go for a walk, tire myself out. 

Despite the decreased temperature- I slide my feet into my trusty brown sandals. 

I close the door behind me, as slowly as I can. As if there is someone inside for me to wake. There are no other sounds filling the cool, crisp air and I feel the need to press my feet into the stony path- just to hear something. It is as if I’ve stepped into another universe completely. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced silence quite like this. 

The trees- once alive with chirping birds and buzzing insects now stand eerily still- blocking my vision of the pale moon above me; my only source of light. 

I wonder if I’m being foolish, wandering around at this time of night. I swallow it down and force myself to toughen up. I’m in the middle of bloody nowhere. Nothing remotely sinister happens around here. 

Not if you discount little girls disappearing over night... Then popping back up years later with nothing in the way of an explanation. 

They were reports of a ‘mad man’ living in one of the cottages in the village too. That was all pretty ‘sinister’ sounding... at least it was when I was a child. Rumour had it his mother (a hermit- whom I’d barely ever set eyes on) locked him up, away from people, only letting him out to roam the streets at night. 

On reflection, that was probably just a story our Mother’s told us to keep us in after dark. But for a while after Bernie disappeared- I decided he’d caught her and done something terrible to her. The thought of her locked up with him in his attic prison game me nightmares. 

I tried to tell the police, even tried to break in once. But that just landed me in a whole heap of trouble. Nobody took me on... probably because he didn’t exist. Even If he did- it didn’t explain the disappearance of her mother and father. 

Another mad theory of mine was that she’d run away with the gypsy children- who’d vacated around the time of her disappearance. Almost certainly coincidental. But she’d been fascinated with them- with their dark clothes and strange traditions. Even more so than I was. She’d stand with her nose pressed to the fence for ages- watching them from the shadows until I got bored and pulled her away. 

It’s absolutely pitch black here but this route is embedded into my memory. I know every step, every turn, ever loose stone by heart. 

Where am I going? What am I doing? My feet are carrying me forwards, my mind almost absent. I am going down to the village... for what purpose I still don’t know. Or perhaps I do... but too nervous (and almost ashamed) to admit it to myself. 

I just need to see her again. Or the house where she resides. I need to know she’s still here... than she’s not vanished again. 

The village looks very different after nightfall. The little friendly cottages are dark and close together- making me claustrophobic. The shops are all in darkness too, save for the sign above the butchers-that depicts a cow and a pig- with a fluorescent light that flashes intermittently. It makes me feel a bit sick so I continue on my journey without looking back at it. 

A breeze has taken hold and the silence isn’t quite so deafening. Another shop sign is swinging back and forth and a pair of cats are chasing about in the road in front of me. They startle me- then bring me comfort. I was starting to think I was the only living being awake. 

My heart begins to thump as I round the corner towards the sweetshop. Every step is taking me closer to her and I’m both relieved and terrified. 

The pretty shop I admired earlier is now in darkness, bar the fairy lights that still twinkle on the perimeter of the window display. It now resembles the shop I remember from my childhood much more closely. There are some slates missing from the roof and the windowsill is peeling slightly . 

I peer inside and jump dramatically as two bright eyes meet with my own. A little brown dog jumps up against the glass of the door- ears up- tail spinning. 

I put my finger to my lips then almost laugh at my stupidity. Of course- he begins to bark anyway. 

I wonder if I should step back into the shadows. Or indeed if I should hotfoot it home. What did I expect? Why did I come here? To see her? Or just to see... her house. Perhaps I have totally lost my mind. 

The upstairs light flicks on. Then the light on the stairs. I hear footsteps- see a figure emerge. Now the downstairs light is on- illuminating me. She is staring at me from the other side of the glass, her lips are slightly parted as if she’s in shock. She reaches down and unlocks the door. I step back as she opens it.


	6. Chapter 6

“Serena.” 

Her voice is low and husky. 

“What are you doing here?”

I think for a moment. 

“I don’t know” 

Is the only answer I can come up with. I feel stupid but her lips turn upwards slightly, making me feel more at ease. 

“I suppose you’d better come in”. 

She stands back and I enter eagerly, reaching down to stroke her little dog as I pass. 

She smiles properly- momentarily.

“What’s she called?” 

“Lucky.” 

She says, scooping the dog into her arms and heading for the stairs. I follow- much more tentatively now. 

“Serena?”

She turns around slowly as she reaches the top of the stairs. I notice that her face has grown pale and I want nothing more than to reach out and touch it. I want to touch her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. 

“It’s a real mess up here...I renovated the shop but haven’t had time to do the flat... you won’t... judge me will you?” 

My mind is taken back to the flat I entered all those years ago. The cold living room- absent of family pictures and personality. The lack of colour. Bernie sat cross legged on the floor. Embarrassed because she had no toys for us to play with. Embarrassed because her mum was cold and unwelcoming. Because her dad barely ever said a word. 

I never judged her. She wasn’t her family... Her flat didn’t reflect her personality. I loved her. Because she was my Bernie. Warm, funny, lovely. Beautiful, smiley, sweet. My best friend. My... everything. 

“Of course I won’t... Bern...”

I reach out to touch her arm but she moves before me. She opens a door that creaks alarmingly loudly and we enter her sitting room. Nothing has changed in all of these years. It’s as if I’m stepping into the memory I was submerged in seconds previously. 

Torrents of rain are hitting the window now- thunder rumbling through the sky. A lightning bolt flashes- illuminating the room and we both gravitate towards the window. 

“It’s a good job Lucky barked and I let you in... Otherwise you might still be out there in this terrible storm!” 

I shiver and pat the dog, who is now sitting between us, gratefully. 

“I missed you Bernie. I missed you, so, so much.”

She doesn’t reply. Instead- she disappears into the kitchen and returns with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. She sits on the floor rather than on the sofa and I join her, gratefully accepting the half of blanket she offers and smile as she wraps it over my legs. 

“I missed you too, Serena” 

She says finally. She leans closer and for a second I imagine she is going to rest her head on my shoulder. She doesn’t. 

“I thought about you, you know. Day after day. I thought about you standing, waiting for me, with your sweet. I’m sorry... I’m so, so sorry.”

She’s silent for a while and I realise she’s crying, her head bend forward, her knees drawn up to herself. 

I wrap my arms around her, try to pull her close, try to comfort her. 

I’ve never seen Bernie cry before. She didn’t ever seem to cry as a child. She didn’t wail when she fell and grazed her knee, like I did. She didn’t cry when her mum shouted at her- like I did when mine gave me a telling off. 

Now she was crying. Painfully.

“My mum was a terrible person, Serena. She did terrible things. She hurt my dad. She hurt me. She was ill... she had all sorts of medication... and one day she took too much. My dad found her dead on the sofa...” 

I look behind me. I realise with a certain horror why we aren’t sitting on it. 

“Oh Bernie...” 

“It happened so quickly. The police came in the night... they interviewed dad... wanted to talk to me. He said we’d go to the station the next day but we never did. He made me pack a case. I didn’t want to go Rena... I promise I didn’t. But he said he’d be taken away. I’d be an orphan...” 

My mind is whirling as I desperately try to fathom the meaning behind what she is saying. 

“They thought he’d killed her.” 

The last sentence is spoken in a higher tone.

I try my best to make my voice sound gentle and neutral. 

“And what do you think?” 

“I don’t know... I don’t know... she was so cruel... I just....I don’t know” 

I can tell she’s panicking and I wrap my arms around her body more forcefully now. 

Thunder is crashing beyond these thin walls. Lightning shocking the room with flashes of bright light intermittently. And she is in my arms. And my mouth is pressed against her hot temple. My body is rocking gently, my hands in her hair, running down her back, circling her thin arms.

“It’s ok sweetheart. It’s alright. You don’t need to be scared anymore. You’re not alone now. I’m here now.” 

She tilts her head back slowly. My heart is beating like a drum, my brain whirling, desperate to take in the information that has just come to me. But right now- nothing matters but her beautiful face. Her beautiful soul, tormented by her deranged parents actions. And I press my mouth against her beautiful, pursed lips.


	7. Chapter 7

We remain there, in that position on the floor, for an amount of time I am not sure of. I feel as if her body has melted into my own... no longer sure of where hers ends and mine begins. 

She raises her head slowly and smiles as our eyes lock. 

“Sorry,” 

I murmur, daring to lean forwards, letting my forehead brush hers. 

“D... don’t be” 

I’m suddenly uncharacteristically lost for words. I’m not entirely sure why I kissed her. It just seemed like the right thing to do... the only thing to do? And now, I want nothing more than to press my lips into her delicate flesh once again. 

“Serena...? You don’t hate me?”

I am perplexed. 

“Hate you?” 

“For leaving... For what I might have concealed...”

“Bernie. You were a little girl. You cannot be blamed for anything that did or didn’t happen between your parents.” 

She smiles again but with less conviction this time. She gazes around the room and I watch her intently until her eyes fall back on my own. 

“I can’t stay here Serena. Not right now. I need to get out. Will you come for a walk?” 

Rain is still battering the window panes, the wind whipping the trees enthusiastically. But the thunder seems to have stopped and there hasn’t been a flash for a while. Small mercies. 

“Yes of course!”

She hasn’t waited for my confirmation- she’s fastening her coat tightly around herself- hooking her little dog onto a lead. 

I decide to bite the bullet. I’ve done that a lot in the past few days. It’s rather liberating! 

“Go and pack a bag. Come and stay with me. At least for tonight?” 

Her eyes widen and I realise how that might have sounded. 

“Oh no I didn’t mean... I just meant... I mean... unless you? I...” 

I am aware I am making no coherent sense and I feel a pinch at the apples of both cheeks. She’s smiling and relief floods me. 

“Yes. I’d love to. So long as you don’t mind... and if Lucky can come too.” 

......................................................................

I follow her out into the rain; taking the dog’s lead from her as she pauses to lock the door. 

“Not that there’s anything much to steal in there!” 

She jokes. 

She pulls the hood of her khaki green coat up- protecting her golden curls. I’m aware my own grey hair is already saturated- totally flat against my head. We walk back into the village side by side- Lucky trotting along between us. 

I step in a puddle, almost shrieking as ice cold liquid saturates the inside of my legs. Bernie grunts. I’ve clearly made her very wet too. I hope she’s only jesting when she sighs and steps away from me. 

Suddenly, as if we’re under some kind of cruel curse- the heavens open above us. Rain pours down in freezing torrents as the skies rumble and explode- lighting up the dim village momentarily- in a fit of brilliant yellow. 

“SHIT” 

Bernie explains loudly. 

I can’t help but laugh. 

“Bernie Wolfe... swearing?” 

“I’m not the girl I used to be Campbell... not by half!” 

She’s laughing too. My insides light up, reflecting the lightning which has all but engulfed us. That laugh. That wonderful, hearty, unique laugh. My stomach feels full. Of something I cannot identify. Not sickly... something altogether more pleasant than that. 

“I really missed you, Serena Campbell.”

She grins, spinning around to face me, between giggles. 

“Do you remember that day Serena? That day... when we sat on your bed and talked about sweethearts? Everyone in our class had them. But we didn’t want them. Did we? You said... I wish you could be my sweetheart. And I agreed. And... I still do.” 

My heart is pounding now. Ten to the dozen. 

“I do too Berenice. I do too. More than anything else in the world.” 

And we are kissing. And we are utterly drenched. And the skies are erupting above us. 

But we don’t care.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

We sit on the floor (desperate to feel the warmth of the fire after our drenching) facing each other. We sip red wine from the nicest wine glasses I could find. For the first time many, many years; I feel contented. 

Bernie is the one to break the silence. 

“So... Do I presume you’re single?” 

She glances down at my hand. I saw her do that the first time we met. But I splay out my fingers to let her check a ring hasn’t grown in the past 24 hours. I’d done the same- yesterday. And was pleased to see her hand remained bare. 

“Yes. I’ve had relationships. Even had a go at a marriage. But it didn’t work. It couldn’t work... Bernie...”

She stares at me intently and I feel compelled to carry on. 

“The image of you just wouldn’t leave me. It was as if you grew and altered with me. I imagined you as a teenager- doing your high school years along side me. I didn’t want to be with any of those pathetic boys Bernie... I wanted...” 

I let myself tail off before beginning again. 

“And that just carried on, Bern. I married Edward out of loneliness... and because all of my friends had boyfriends and husbands and it was just the normal thing to do.” 

“Me too. I tried men... although I knew I didn’t want that. I tried women and that made more sense. But nothing ever compared to the longing in my heart. The imagine of adult Serena lodged into my brain. The loyalty to those promises we’d made all of those years ago. When we were merely children.” 

Tears well between us and I decide I have used up all of the words I needed to. I let my head fall forward, capturing her lips in my own once again. I jump as she clicks her wine glass down on the fireplace. Prevent myself from gasping as she transfers her weight onto her knees and presses her body against mine. 

Her mouth opens for me; welcoming my tongue, hers dancing over mine, making me shiver. Her breasts are flush against my own now- her hands tracing my back. My shoulders. One is venturing beneath my blouse. Stroking my stomach. Caressing my sides. 

“Come upstairs with me, beautiful lady? Help me get out of these wet clothes?” 

She grins as she pulls away from me. 

“You always were the naughty one... Campbell!” 

I can’t suppress a hearty laugh. 

“Says the one... who has been groping my body for the past... how many minutes?” 

Her eyes are dark and serious now and I’m worried I’ve offended her. 

“That wasn’t groping Serena.” 

She says bluntly.

“This... is groping” 

Her hands are on my breasts now. I can’t help but moan as I push myself against her. As she slips her jumper over her head, inviting me to touch her. 

This above clothes petting is lovely but I can take no more. My heart is beating like I’ve never experienced. There is a throbbing between my legs. 

I stand and pull her gently up towards me- taking her hand in mine and leading her up the creaky wooden stair case. A journey we’ve made so many times before; always with a very different destination in mind. 

A decision faces me at the top of the stairs. My teenage room (nee my childhood room- the one we spent hours of our former years in). The one that only hosts a single bed. Or. 

I’ve been residing in the more spacious room that once hosted my parents. I push thoughts of them out of my mind and decide that is the better option. 

We’re on the bed now. She’s on top of me. She’s under me. I’m touching her. She’s touching me. 

I’m undressing her. 

Dragging garments from hot, soft, feverish flesh. I’m kissing her stomach. Removing her bra. My lips capture her nipple and her head tilts back slowly. I have control now and I feel like I am in heaven. 

I am completely naked now too, moaning as my body brushes against hers. Moaning as strong fingers knead my thighs... find their way between my legs. This is bliss. Perfect bliss. She’s inside me. I am inside her. Her hips buck against me gently, in time with soft moans, deep breaths, grunts of pleasure. 

I have never felt a connection like this. I have never even dreamed of connection like this. I adore her.


	9. Chapter 9

I wake slowly and smile as my eyes become accustomed to the stream of golden light that is seeping in through a gap in the curtains. My arm is stretched lazily over a smooth, exposed chest. Pale skin, hosting beautiful, taut, rose coloured nipples, a scattering of tiny birth marks. And scar beneath her right breast. I want to ask. I wanted to ask last night. But I refrained. Too much, too soon. I lean over her and brush a golden curl from her forehead. Brush my thumb against it. Kiss it. Her eyes flutter gently and I smile again as her hand reaches around me. She runs it down my back, making me shiver. It’s cold and I pull her body into me as I let my weight fall back onto the sheets. 

“Good morning. Serena Wendy McKinnie... oh... that’s not your name anymore is it?” 

“You can call me whatever you like, darling. As long as you stay here- pressed against me- for a very long time”. 

Her head tilts, hair stroking my shoulder blade. She is she is beautiful. This is perfect. 

......................................................................

 

Before now, I’ve been the type of woman to laugh at stereotypical romance. But today- I’m taking Bernie Wolfe on a picnic.   
There is not a great deal of anything interesting in the cupboard but I manage to scrape together a substantial feast. And slip a bottle of wine into the hamper for good measure. 

We walk side by side, brushing but not touching. We chat as we go. Small talk at first, that becomes deeper as locations trigger memories of the past.

I want more than anything to take her hand in mine but am not sure if it’s appropriate... terrified she’ll reject public affection. 

I am so incredibly pleased when she slips her arm into mine. We move into each other naturally. She’s warm and smells like lavender. I can’t help myself placing a sneaky kiss on her cheek as I lean over her. 

“I really missed you, Serena. Not a day went by, where I didn’t think of you. I need you to know that.” 

“Absolutely ditto, Bern. Seeing you again has been the most beautiful gift. I... I don’t ever want to loose you.” 

I feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. She looks a little... perplexed? I’m scared I’ve over stepped the mark- with the mention of us staying together. 

“I don’t want to ever go through that pain again Serena. The horrible, empty, lonely feeling that came with your absence. But how...?” 

There is a pause. I’m not entirely sure what she means. 

“We’ll make it work, love. We don’t have to think about that now.” 

......................................................................

It is a balmy afternoon. The smell of roses overcomes me as I lower myself onto the grass, depositing the food hamper beside me. I hear the call of a sparrow, unseen in a nearby tree. The rain of the previous night appears to have awoken nature. Just like the beautiful woman beside me has awoken all of my senses. 

We sit side by side, overlooking a slow flowing river. Silent for a while. 

She reaches over and rests her hand in my lap. 

I feel a grin spread involuntarily across my face. This is happiness.

The river bubbles cheerfully beneath us. We chat and giggle as we sip our white wine. Conversation pauses again as we spread butter thickly on crackers and add lumps of cheese liberally. This is happiness. 

Afterwards, we lean back on the grass. Her eyes flutter closed and I watch the clouds shape-shift above us. 

I think about the past. When we were little girls and would run merrily through this very field. I think of the summers, when we’d splash in the river- have water fights then sit on the bank- sharing secrets as we dried off. 

I think of my latter summers alone. Sitting on the bank. Thinking of her. Of us. Of my loneliness.

I thank my lucky stars that she’s back here with me. That her hand is in mine. That she’s leaning closer... our cheeks brush. Our lips meet. She’s on top of me in the grass. 

This is happiness.


End file.
